You Hate Yourself For It But You Love Her
by EvieWhite
Summary: The five people Lana Winters loved and the one she wishes she didn't...


**The five people Lana Winters loved and the one she wishes she didn't…**

Her eyes were blue and her hair was wild and her beautiful smile melted your insides to a soupy puddle. Her hands were gentle as she tucked strands of hair behind your ear, and her sweet voice was the only thing that could ground you.

She glued the pieces of you together with tender kisses. She was your first love and, no matter how much time passes you will always have a special place in your heart for her.

Her lips felt like flower petals on you, soft and delicate. That first kiss opened the flood gates inside of you and they've never been closed since. Your parents tried to close them when they caught you kissing her within the greenhouse walls. They said being gay is a sin, but how could the love you felt for her be anything but a miracle?

They threw you out, kicked you half way across the country to your aunt who left sticky red lipstick kisses on your cheeks. After that, you never saw her again and that breaks your heart.

Out in that small country town no one saw through your fake smile but her, the girl with cut up t-shirts and a pack of cigarettes in her back pocket. She was beautiful and smart and rebellious and everything you wanted to be.

But nothing was ever enough for her, and I guess in the end you weren't either.

She would kiss you with enough passion to make you weak in the knees, and she would sneak you love poems between classes. She made you feel normal and you cherished that.

Hand in hand, you and she would lie looking up at the stars dreaming of running away together. You never thought she would go without you, but she bought a bus ticket to California and left you with only a letter saying: I'm sorry. Goodbye.

After her you found it hard to trust anybody. You took up the mantra of: do it yourself because no one else will ever help you. For the most part no one did help you, except for her, your college literature professor.

Her stunning chocolate eyes were framed by glasses that made her look both dignified and sexy. She kissed you first, in the stacks of the school library late one Friday night when you were supposed to be studying.

The way she looked at you made you feel wanted, and you sure as hell wanted her. A love affair disguised as tutoring sessions progressed between the two of you for your whole college career.

She had these hands with a small rough patch of skin on her index fingers from constantly holding pens. On the day of your graduation she gave you a letter that you still keep at the bottom of your jewelry box. You wish you had it with you now at this hell hole to give you comfort.

In the beginning of you whirlwind love for her the all too frequent phone calls from her husband only bothered you a little, but by senior year your whole heart was invested in her. No matter how much you fooled yourself, deep down you knew she would never leave her husband, and she didn't

The first few years of your journalism career didn't exactly go the way you planned. You were going to jump right in, impress everyone in the industry, and sky rocket to the top, but somehow you found yourself writing about the migration patterns of pigeons.

Night after night you ended up in a sleazy bar filled with smoke and bad karaoke, tossing back double whiskeys as if it was only apple juice. You spotted her from across the room. She was gorgeous in a tight dress and high heels. She stood out from all the others in the bar, maybe because you sensed the wild child in her and you seem to have a thing for bad girls.

Her tight black dress landed on your bedroom floor that night and her bra hung from the ceiling fan as if a trophy. It only took that one time for you to get addicted. She was like your personal drug and you were hers. She gave herself to you completely but you abused that power, and oh how you regret it now.

At the first chance to move up in the journalism world you took it, even though that meant leaving her behind to dance alone in bars again. There's not a night that goes by in this wretched place that you don't wish you had been better to her.

But overall it was a good thing you left because than you never would have met Wendy. Your Wendy, the one with curly chestnut hair and eyes deeper than the ocean. Your Wendy, the one you so desperately wanted to spend the rest of your life with but who was cruelly ripped away from you.

You carry her picture, the one Oliver snuck you, at the bottom of your shoe. You can't bear to be away from it for too long, probably because once you two met you never left each other's side. It was love at first sight.

She had been walking down the street with a full bag of groceries and you were hurrying to your first day in the new office. You bumped into her, knocking the food to the ground. If it had been anyone but Wendy you would have just kept going, but your gaze met hers and that was the end for you. You helped her gather her belongings and even walked her home, not caring that you'd be a half hour late. He thanked you with a kiss

Sometimes, when you close your eyes tight enough, you can still feel the tingle of her lips pressed to yours. You miss her every day. Sometimes you think you see her out of the corner of your eye, but it's just a trick of the mind. She's gone. She's dead.

It's not fair that a saint like Wendy is dead and a monster like Mary Eunice lives. You cry over it as you drift off to a troubled sleep. But if you're honest with yourself, you know that Mary Eunice has given you more than any other lover could.

When her hands are on you, greedily kissing every inch of skin and tugging you roughly to her lithe body, you love her. Even when you see her eyes turn to gold you love her. It is all consuming love that eats you away from the inside out, but you crave even more.

You wish you hated her. You know you're supposed to want her dead. But truth be told she is the best you ever had. You love her. You hate yourself for it, but you love her.

"Tell me sweet Lana, what are you thinking about?" Her delicate fingers trace patterns across the curve of your back and her soft lips kiss the nape of your neck. Her scent fills your nose, both calming and exciting your senses.

"You Mary Eunice, always and forever you."


End file.
